


Peachy Keen

by Rozzlynn



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Poetry, Sexy Leitner Week (The Magnus Archives), gummy worms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozzlynn/pseuds/Rozzlynn
Summary: Martin forced down another mouthful of tinned peaches, glaring at his front door. The fruit smell almost drowned out the worm smell, and maybe he ought to be grateful for that, but he'd had nothing but peaches to eat for three days in a row, and both scents were getting hard to tolerate.Whenever he tried to read, he spent more time staring past the page than actually taking in the words. Still, it was better than staring at the door all day. Marginally better. After rifling through his to-read pile, he picked up the most interesting of the remaining choices.Honey kisses in the eveningSweet and light upon my tongueSipping cocoa while I'm weavingTies that bind are sugar spun
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jane Prentiss, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Knock knock

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've got dozens of open tabs worth of fics to read and several WIPs already, but one of the [#sexyleitnerweek2021](https://sexyleitnerweek.tumblr.com/post/639942420192215040/announcing-sexy-leitner-week) prompts caught my imagination today, so I want to get this posted too. Just a bit of spooky silliness, I hope it's a fun read.
> 
> The first part here is kinda gen, with Martin and Jane. The next few chapters will turn this into one of those 'a Leitner made them do it' Jon/Martin fics, and the rating will go up to mature or explicit, with extra tags, depending on how the details work out. (Writing doesn't always go as expected, so I don't want to tag my chickens before they hatch, so to speak.)

Martin forced down another mouthful of tinned peaches, glaring at his front door. The fruit smell almost drowned out the worm smell, and maybe he ought to be grateful for that, but he'd had nothing but peaches to eat for three days in a row, and both scents were getting hard to tolerate. 

He'd been stuck in his flat for eight days, and it was getting hard to deny that he was going to die here. 

The knocking started up again. Martin shuddered, and set aside the half-eaten tin of peaches. 

He still had a few unread books on his shelf. Should he consider it lucky that he'd gone on a charity shop splurge the weekend before this all started, looking for inspiration? All things considered, it didn't make much difference. Whenever he tried to read, he spent more time staring past the page than actually taking in the words. Still, it was better than staring at the door all day. Marginally better.

After rifling through his to-read pile, he picked up the most interesting of the remaining choices, a poetry book with an oversaturated photo of a cake taking up most of the cover. The title was written out in icing: _'Sweet Tooth'_.

The first poem was as saccharine as he should've expected. 

_Sugar spun_

_Honey kisses in the evening  
_ _Sweet and light upon my tongue  
_ _Sipping cocoa while I'm weaving  
_ _Ties that bind are sugar spun_

 _My sweetheart wants a lemon tree  
_ _So I'll make lemon drizzle  
_ _Even acid can make zesty  
_ _Treats that he won't quibble_

 _My foes are kept at bay beyond  
_ _These gingerbread defences  
_ _My candy canes cast sticky spells  
_ _With each strike, blood flows sweetly  
_ _Death overflows  
_ _I drink my fill  
_ _Dripping from my mouth to his  
_ _Sweet as nectar  
_ _Homespun devotion  
_ _Frosts over  
_ _The soul_

 _Love  
_ _Sustained by  
_ _Cake  
_ _Force  
_ _Tiny crystals crunch  
_ _Bleed your teeth  
_ _Sugar snap bones  
_ _Taste the invaders  
_ _Gummy worms in an old red wrapper_  
 _Taste the peaches  
_ _You'll be fine_

Martin glanced at the cover, then flicked back to the first poem. There was something weird about it, right? He reread the page, but couldn't pinpoint the weirdness at a second glance. 

The knocking at his door had stopped, for now. Maybe he should try to get some sleep. 

His gaze landed on the open tin of fruit. Better finish it before he went to bed. He really couldn't afford to waste food. 

The peaches were delicious. Maybe his appetite was catching up with him. It wasn't as if he'd eaten much, over the last few days. 

While he finished eating, he wandered over to the front door. Since it was quiet, he nudged the fabric away from one corner of the gap beneath the door, to see if the worms were still trying to crawl in. 

Yep, there they were, a handful of wriggly little worms. On impulse, he poured out the leftover syrup from the tin, coating the invaders in a spreading patch of sticky sweetness. They twitched a few times, rolling into each other, then fell still. 

He knelt for a closer look. 

Those were gummy worms. He'd changed living worms into gummy worms. Neat. 

They even tasted nice. Sugary and slightly peachy, though the fruit flavour might be coming from the layer of syrup. 

Another wave of worms tried to creep in under the door, but when they made contact with the sticky puddle, they transformed just like the previous batch. He ate a few more, then drizzled a bit of extra syrup on the floor, just to be on the safe side. 

Jane didn't send any more worms through. He gave her a few minutes, then sighed and shoved the fabric back into place. 

Just as he was about to call it a night, the knocking started up again. 

_Knock... knock..._

Martin grinned and knocked on his side of the door, adding to the rhythm. 

_Knock-knock-knock..._

Jane kept up the noise for a few more minutes, while he drummed out an accompaniment. 

Eventually, she fell silent. Martin pressed his ear to the door. 

Was that the sound of squelchy footsteps retreating down the hall? She was leaving, wasn't she? The worm-scent had changed. He could smell fear hanging in the air, sickly sweet and nearly as delicious as the peaches. 

His hand landed on the doorknob, and paused there as he tried to think this through. He probably shouldn't chase after her. One can of syrup wouldn't be enough. He didn't have much else on hand.

Well, he could let her go, for now, and stock up in case he ever ran into her again. It was a shame to let this end when it was just getting fun, but he had to be sensible, didn't he? 

He bounced on his toes. Had he been eating too much sugar? He was hyper, wasn't he? Better have a glass of water, or else he'd get a headache once the sugar rush wore off. 

The water tasted lovely, nice and refreshing, but even once he'd finished the glass, he could still taste peach syrup in his mouth. 

Humming under his breath, he fished out an empty jar from the cupboard, and scooped up some of the leftover worms. He made sure to include a few of the half squished ones that he'd stomped to death on the first day, and a few of the gummy ones. Jon would be interested in both. 

He packed the jar in his work bag, next to his laptop. After pulling on his coat, he glanced around his flat, in case he'd forgotten anything. 

Ah, he should pack the poetry book too. Something to read on the train. 

It was getting late, but Jon would still be at work, right? Hopefully he hadn't already fired him for his unexplained absence. Well, even if he had, Martin could still turn things around by showing up with an explanation. After ten years of service, he could insist that the Institute hear him out.

Martin stepped out of his flat with a smile on his face. Maybe he ought to be more worried... No, why shouldn't he look forward to going back to work? There was nothing wrong with wanting to see Jon again. Besides, he had a fun story and a jar of sweets to share. 


	2. Blessing or curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this plotbunny's kept nibbling. Unknown total chapters now, as the bit that I was thinking of as 'part two' would be better as several chapters, and I've had thoughts about continuing it in a sort of archives polycule direction after that, so I'm not sure how long it'll be in the end.

Jon looked up from a statement when Martin let himself into his office. 

"Hi, sorry to interrupt," Martin told him cheerily. He set down several carrier bags full of shopping on the desk, and took a seat opposite Jon. 

(He'd bought himself some drinks and snacks at the corner store near his flat, and wolfed down a pack of biscuits on the train, marking an end to more than a week of rationing. If Jane showed up again, she'd get a litre of soda to the face.)

"What...?" Jon stared at him, an unfairly attractive mixture of irritation and confusion on his face. The air was thick with the scent of simmering fear, but whatever had gotten under Jon's skin, it didn't seem to be anything to do with him.

"Good news, I'm not dead."

Jon stared for a few more moments before putting together a tense reply. "Martin. I'm glad you're feeling better, but we can fill out the paperwork tomorrow. If you wouldn't mind - "

"Paperwork?"

"For your sick leave." 

"I wasn't sick." Martin got out the jar of worms, and set it down next to the shopping, as an explanation. 

"Do you mean to say that you were lying when you texted - Wh-what is that?" 

"Worms!" Martin told him, patting the lid of the jar. "I haven't texted you anything. I lost my phone. Oh, Jane must have found it. Sneaky girl. She must've been having fun."

"Jane...?" Jon frowned at the mixture of dead worms and sweets. 

"Jane Prentiss? She's the worm woman you told us about, right? When we were working on Tim Hodge’s statement. Here, want a drink?" Martin grabbed a couple of bottles of peach flavour iced tea from a carrier bag, and offered one to Jon.

"Prentiss? Did she... is there any chance she infected you? Think carefully - "

"No, I'm fine. Not a scratch."

"...Perhaps you'd better start from the beginning." Jon took the proffered drink and set it down next to the tape recorder, then swapped out the statement he'd been recording for a blank cassette. 

"Sure, sure. I should make a statement, right? Get it all on record." 

"Yes, I think that would be for the best." Jon pressed record, and hesitated before speaking. "Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding…"

"An unexpected guest. Heh, I guess Jane could refer to me the same way... She's been living in the basement of Carlos Vittery's apartment building, and I dropped in on her accidentally when I went back to do some extra follow up. Not - not dropped in on top of her, don't worry, she was over on the other side of the basement. I guess I caught her attention when I screamed, which was a really silly thing to do, I know, but at the time, I was kinda scared. I ran, dropped my phone, made it home, and fell straight asleep, I was so exhausted by the close call. Then I woke up to a power cut and a dead laptop, which wasn't ideal. Jane started knocking at my door before I had a chance to leave the flat. She has this weird musty smell, so I sort of knew it was her even before she sent her little parasites in under the door. I stomped on them and plugged the gap with fabric, since that was the best I could do, at the time. I stuffed some fabric into the cracks around the window, too. Anywhere a slender worm might crawl, I made airtight.

Then for eight days, I was stuck there, under siege in my own home. Jane kept knocking at the door, as if she expected me to let her in. I wish I'd figured out how to fight back a bit sooner. The power cut lasted the whole time, but I still had water, and the streetlights outside still worked. I tried banging on the walls a few times, and dropping written notes out of the window, when I could work up the courage to open it for a split second, but... nothing came of that, I guess. I was too high up to have jumped even if my window had been the sort to open by more than a couple of inches. Luckily, I had enough food to get by, a bunch of cold ready meals and tins, but if I'd been trapped for another week or two... Well, someone would've checked on me eventually, right? If only to evict me. Though if they ran into Jane, that wouldn't have gone well, so... heh, it's a good thing I saved myself, isn't it?

See, I realised today that if there's evil magic, then there has to be good magic too, right? It doesn't make any scientific sense for Jane to walk around while every inch of her body is riddled with worms, more hive than flesh. So if that kind of spookiness has a - an antithesis, it doesn't need to make sense either. It can still work.

I tried out the first thing I had to hand against her. The leftover syrup from a tin of peaches. It worked perfectly, so... I brought you the results," Martin explained, tapping the jar of worms.

Jon stared at the jar. Judging from the look on his face, he was either waiting for more of an explanation, or trying to piece together a coherent reply. 

Martin took a sip of his iced tea, giving Jon some time to think. This brand always used to taste a tad oversweet, but today it was just what he needed.

Eventually, Jon met his gaze. "Martin. Are you claiming to have turned Jane Prentiss into candy by sharing a tin of peaches with her?"

"No, just some of her worms. I cleared a gap to let them crawl in, poured the syrup over them, and figured out I can kill them that way. Jane ran off, once she realised her tactics weren't working. I guess I ought to hope she doesn't come back and try something worse, but if she does, I'll be ready."

Jon took his time processing all of this. "...You - you've got - there are still dead worms in the jar, as well as candy. The syrup didn't work on all of them, I suppose?"

"I wasn't trying to transform all of them. I thought I'd bring you a sample of both types, since there were plenty left on the floor. What? You don't think I scooped up a pile of worm corpses, a-and then bought a pack of sweets and threw them in too, do you?"

Jon spent a few seconds clearly struggling to find an answer.

"Oh, come on. I'll show you," Martin offered, taking the lid off the jar. He poured some of his iced tea over the remaining worms, silvery little corpses oozing black slime, and smiled in satisfaction as they changed into gummies swimming in clear syrup. 

Jon's chair scraped against the floor as he jolted back. The scent of fear spiked, which wasn't what he'd been trying to achieve at all.

"What's wrong?" Martin asked, placing the cap back on his drink.

"D-don't spill that anywhere." Jon's fingers dug into the arms of his chair as his gaze flickered between the bottle and the jar.

"It doesn't matter if it spills, it's not going to affect anything else," Martin assured him. 

Jon raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to look sceptical and scared at the same time. 

"Look, I'll prove it. Do you have a - a spare pencil or something?" Martin asked, grabbing a pack of biscuits from one of the carrier bags. 

Jon hesitated before opening a drawer and fishing out a pencil. He carefully placed it in the center of the desk, gathered all of the surrounding paperwork into his arms, then scooted his chair back again. 

Martin snapped the pencil in half and set the pieces back down. Jon jumped slightly in his chair, rustling the papers.

"I get the feeling there needs to be something wrong with it, as a starting point, or else I've got no reason to try to turn it into something more palatable," Martin explained.

"I can't say I'm following your logic," Jon muttered.

"Just watch, okay? This pack of biscuits, it's shop bought, perfectly normal." Martin waited until Jon nodded, then opened the pack and started crumbling a biscuit over the broken pencil. "Now, I'm not trying to do anything to it, so nothing's happening, see?"

Once the entire biscuit had been reduced to crumbs, he picked up both halves of the pencil and held them out for Jon to inspect. 

"Yes, it's, uh..." Jon still didn't sound as if he understood the point of this.

Martin placed the bits of pencil back on the desk, and held up another biscuit. "This time, I'll try to change it into something better."

As the crumbs rained down a second time, the broken pencil changed into a couple of pieces of liquorice stick.

"Oh, liquorice, cool." Martin bit into one of the pieces, and glanced up to see Jon looking horrified. 

"Don't eat that! It was a pencil!"

"Well, it's not anymore." Martin shrugged, and finished off the sweet. 

"What if it changes back?"

"Gotta hope it doesn't." Martin couldn't help laughing. Jon could pick holes in anything. "Are you sure you don't want the other half?"

"I - I think we should keep hold of it, for observation." Jon set his paperwork back down on his desk, and added the remaining piece of liquorice to the worm jar.

"Do you get it now? I won't change anything accidentally." Martin swept the biscuit crumbs into his palm and brushed them off into the bin.

"I don't see how you could have expected that to work. Eight days into a siege, you can't have just realised that you have magic powers all of a sudden. Why did you think spilling your food would accomplish anything, before you tried it out?"

Martin shrugged. "I had to start somewhere if I was ever going to fight back. The syrup might have slowed the worms down, even if it hadn't done anything else, and I could have stepped on them until she stopped sending them in."

Jon gave him an intense look. "Is that what you expected at the time, or how you're rationalising it now?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I remember it that well. What difference does it make?"

"Could you tell me what you were doing beforehand, in the last hour or two that you spent in your apartment?" Jon rested his elbows on the desk, leaning in as he awaited an answer.

"Not much, honestly. I stared out of the window for a while, then went round checking that each room was still free of worms. I started a tin of peaches, and when I lost my appetite, I read for a while, which was a nice distraction. Then I finished the fruit, and thought about putting the syrup to use."

"What were you reading?" Jon kept his tone even, but the scent of fear spiked again.

"A poetry book, one of a few that I picked up the other week. I brought it with me. Do you want to take a look?" 

"Yes, I think I ought to." Jon looked oddly apprehensive. 

Martin dug the book out of his bag and held it out.

"Place it on the desk, please," Jon requested.

"Okay..."

Once Martin had set it down, the book's title, Sweet Tooth, was visible on the cover.

"Well, that'll be a Leitner." Jon sounded slightly faint.

"A Leitner? Like Ex Altoria, and The Boneturner’s Tale, and the ones in Artefact storage? Jon, no offense, but I don't think a book full of lovey-dovey poems about sweets is a dire threat to humanity. Besides, there's no nameplate."

Martin tried not to sigh as Jon flipped the front cover open with the end of his pen, confirming the lack of nameplate. It made sense that Jon was on edge, if he'd latched onto the idea that this was a cursed book. Martin had listened to the supplementary notes for Dominic Swain's statement enough times to memorise Jon's tone of righteous outrage. _'I will be bringing this up with Elias and recommending that the search for any other missed books from the Leitner library be made this Institute’s highest priority. Jurgen Leitner has done the world enough harm, and we must pursue all available avenues to ensure that he does no more.'_

Jon flipped the cover of Sweet Tooth closed, and took a few moments to compose a reply. "Leitner might not have had the chance to glue a nameplate into his most recent works when his library was destroyed. Or perhaps there are other sources of similarly dangerous material."

"Dangerous material? That's a - a cake. On the cover. You can see that, right?"

"Considering you find yourself capable of using cake to defeat your enemies..."

"Not by reading to them!"

"Do you seriously believe that your choice of reading material was a coincidence?"

"It wasn't a coincidence. It was my inspiration. I only read the first poem, and it was sappy, yeah, but it got me thinking that it should be possible to do something good and right, to make life sweet again. I needed that kind of hope, I - I really needed it. But it was just poetry, not step by step instructions on how to fight monsters. I had to take a guess at what might work, you know, to invoke magic on my side, like Jane had on hers, but better."

There was something indecipherable in Jon's expression. "Do you think your actions would have had the same effect if you hadn't read this first?"

Martin tried to give the question proper consideration. "Maybe not? I can't exactly go back in time to test that out. So either it was just inspiration, or it actively helped. I still wouldn't call it a threat."

An odd silence fell over the room for a few moments, until Jon's phone started buzzing. He raised his eyebrows as he picked it up, as if he didn't typically expect to be contacted on a Sunday evening.

"I just received another text message," Jon told him. "From you. _'Keep him. When the Institute overflows with decay, when your screams are choked in blood, when the hive makes a home of your flesh, you will both know what it is to be consumed._ '"

"She doesn't know when to quit, does she?" Martin rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll kill her next time I see her. Should've killed her today, but I didn't fancy my odds without a few more supplies on hand."

Jon rubbed his eyes, as if he had a headache coming on. "Why did you even go back to Vittery's apartment building? You'd already turned in your report."

"I was worried I hadn’t really done enough investigation for you. The first time I broke into the basement, I saw some spider webs, but I hadn't brought a torch, and the place was dark and musty enough to creep me out, so I headed straight for the stairs. I went back with a torch that evening to take a second look at the cobwebs, but they were nothing special after all. 

It's weird, the air was warmer at night, when she was there. I heard her before I saw her, a - a faint rustling on the other side of the basement, and I tried to creep up for a closer look, even though I really, really didn't want to. I’ve catalogued enough of these cases to know that following the noise is always a bad idea. It's just, it’s my job, isn’t it? And I know it hasn't been going well, these last few months. I couldn't keep coming back to you with e-effectively nothing. You keep telling us to do our due diligence, to leave no stone unturned, so... When she saw me, I - I tried to get a photo, to bring back proof for you, but the worms started leaping at me, so I ended up running. That must have been when I dropped my phone. I'm sorry, I should have been more careful, I shouldn't have led her here, but I'll make this right. I'll get rid of her before she gets anywhere near you, Jon, I promise."

Martin tried to smile, to keep Jon from getting too psyched out by Jane's gory message. 

Jon stared at him, wide-eyed, then sighed and lowered his gaze to the poetry book on the desk, studying the cover again. "Please don't take any unnecessary risks. Especially not for my sake."

"Dealing with Jane seems like a pretty necessary risk to me. She's not going to leave us alone."

"That is all the more reason to make strategic preparations for her attack. Please don't rush into danger while she has the upper hand. We need to figure out what we're dealing with here, to give ourselves the best chance of prevailing." Jon met his gaze, taking a firm tone now that he'd settled on a plan. "I'll speak to Elias about arranging some extra security, and I'll warn the others to be careful on their way in tomorrow morning. Prentiss is supposed to have made a statement herself, some time ago. We can try to dig that up, in case it offers any insights. I'll speak to Sonja about the book - "

"Hey, no, I'm not donating this to Artefact Storage. It's mine." Martin grabbed the poetry book, then felt mildly ridiculous. It wasn't as if Jon had been about to run off with it or anything.

"What? No, I agree, you should keep hold of it, at least while Prentiss is at large," Jon assured him.

"Really? Are you sure you're not going to steal it as soon as I'm not looking? I know how you get about Leitners."

"No, of course not. Martin, I..." Jon started to sound upset, then closed his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to pull himself together. When he met his gaze again, he continued in something closer to a professional tone. "It's true that Leitners are dangerous. Some more so than others. But right now, Prentiss is the greater threat. I understand that you only escaped with your life because of this book. A-and we know for a fact that she is still targeting you. I wouldn't try to take away the only weapon with which you've managed to defend yourself in an ongoing emergency."

"Oh. Good." Martin's grip on the cover relaxed slightly. "So why do you want to talk to Sonja?"

"To ask for advice on how to investigate the book's effects while minimising the risk to all involved. Artefact Storage has a well practised procedure for testing the properties of Leitners without incurring casualties. Sonja gave me a brief explanation when I first joined the Institute, but I never undertook the same training as staff in her department. We can ask Sasha for her input, too, but as I understand it, she wasn't there for very long, and her training will be a few years out of date at this point."

"Oh, right. And you're sure she won't, like, try to confiscate it, or anything?" 

"I highly doubt it. The Institute only possesses items that have been donated or purchased. Plenty of visitors have written statements about their property without handing it over." 

"Sorry if I'm being weird about this. I just, it seems a bit different, bringing it in and asking everyone to work on it as if it was part of the collection..." Martin found his grip on the book tightening again.

Jon frowned, and took a few moments to compose a reply. "To be clear, if something goes wrong during testing, and the book poses an immediate threat to our lives, then I will try to deal with the danger. That might mean temporarily confiscating it, or damaging it, if that's what it takes. But once the emergency has passed, I will check how you wish to proceed. I trust you have no problem with this?"

"Uh, no, that's fine." Martin tried to smile, getting nauseous at the thought of damaging the book, even while struggling to imagine that it could ever be that dangerous. 

"If it proves to be an unmanageable weapon, then we're better off finding that out under expert supervision, rather than keeping it under wraps until Prentiss attacks, only for it to blow up in our faces. If we can't rely on it, we'll find another way to defend ourselves. But I do hope it will prove to be of further use."

"Right, so, I'll just keep hold of it, in the meantime?" Martin slipped the book back into his bag. "I - I should head home soon. I wanted to tell you what happened, and pick up some shopping, but now that's all done, and we've got tomorrow all planned out..."

"Actually, I'd like to ask you to stay in the Archives. There's a room I sleep in when working late. It’s supposed to be humidity controlled, and though it hasn’t been working for some time, it does mean it’s well sealed. Nothing will be sneaking through any window cracks. I suggest you stay there for now. After all, you can't fight in your sleep."

Martin blinked, and took a moment to process the suggestion. "Are you sure? I mean, I appreciate the offer, but if you have to backtrack, I think I'd stand a decent chance against her at my place, even if she does break in. I can set traps, and rig up some kind of alarm..."

A look of distress flickered across Jon's face, until he schooled his features back into an intensely serious expression. "You shouldn't have to fight for your life by yourself, even if you do stand a chance."

Martin leaned back against his chair, getting lightheaded. Maybe it was the lack of sleep catching up with him, or the adrenaline wearing off now that he was somewhere safe. He bit his lip to avoid blurting out _'that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me'_.

"Okay," Martin eventually managed to reply. "Thanks. To be honest, I didn't really sleep much, during the siege, so I - I think I need to crash soon. If it's really okay."

"Of course. I'll show you to the cot. Shall I carry these...?" Jon picked up a couple of carrier bags.

"Sure, thanks." Martin made it to his feet, and gathered the rest of his shopping. 

"I keep an overnight bag in Document Storage, " Jon told him while they walked. "The clothes won't fit, of course, but you can feel free to use anything else. Spare toothbrush, toothpaste, et cetera."

"Oh, cool. I, uh, I should probably wash before going to bed," Martin realised. "I didn't really do much of that, either, while I was worried about worms sneaking in, I, I didn't really like taking off my clothes, so I must smell awful, by now..." 

Jon paused in the doorway of Document Storage. "No, actually, you have a - a pleasant fruity scent. I assumed it was a new deodorant."

"Really?" Martin almost tried to sniff himself, but he thought better of it just in time. "Must be a side effect. I can still taste those peaches, even though it's been a while..."

"Peaches. That's the scent." Jon looked him over, then headed further into the room, past shelves full of old statements. "I'll make a note of that side effect. Perhaps it will wear off at some point."

"Mm, maybe." When they reached the cot, Martin sat down on the thin mattress, leaving his bags on the floor. "Okay, I, uh, might just sleep, then. What time are you leaving?"

"I'll be working through the night. Drop by my office if you need anything," Jon told him.

"What? You need to sleep too." 

"I'm not leaving you alone in the building while you're under a Leitner's influence."

"Oh. Still..."

"I'll take a nap tomorrow, once the others are in," Jon insisted. "And once I've spoken to Elias and Sonja. We can pick up some shopping tomorrow, too, if there's anything else you'll need for an extended stay. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find Prentiss' statement, or any other useful information. Sleep well."

"Oh... kay..." Martin's chest ached with some sort of feeling, but he was too tired to dwell on it.

Jon picked up a box of unsorted statements on his way out of Document Storage. 

Martin kicked off his shoes, stripped to his underwear, and slid under the blanket. The scent of peaches followed him into his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback's welcome! I'm also on tumblr at [thezolblade](https://thezolblade.tumblr.com/) and twitter at @allthescribbles, if you feel like saying hi.


End file.
